


Advent 2020

by OtakuElf



Series: Biological Clock [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 8,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27829138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuElf/pseuds/OtakuElf
Summary: Is it really Advent already?
Relationships: All the relationships
Series: Biological Clock [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/62053
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	1. Fairy Lights

"Did you find them?"

"Shh!"

"I'm being quiet. You be quiet. How many boxes have we looked in? Maybe they aren't here?"

"They've got to be here somewhere. They have to have fairy lights!"

"Maybe they're in the basement?"

"What? In the wine cellar? We're not allowed in there."

A heavy sigh. "Well, not any more we aren't."

"Maybe we should just ask Daddy?"

"That would ruin the surprise!"

Siger could see his sisters blink in the dim light of the bare bulb hanging from the attic beams. Both eyes moved at exactly the same time. That was something they had been practicing, as it seemed to really bother Uncle Mycroft's Anthea last time she visited.

"Honestly?" Rose sounded just like _Pere_ , "Don't you think _Pere_ already knows?"

"If _Pere_ doesn't, then Uncle Mycroft does. And he's in London," Miranda agreed.

"Well, for Joy and Will then. And the Security staff," Siger told them.

"Did you try the box labeled 'lights'?" came their Daddy's voice from the bottom of the attic steps.

Siger enjoyed reading, but it had not occurred to him that the boxes were, in fact, labeled. Containers often were not at his home in Baker Street. "El, aye, there it is!" but before he could open the carton, his sisters had pounced on it, and were dragging it to the top of the steps.

"How did you know where we were?" Siger asked his father, who obligingly climbed the stairs to take the box of Christmas lights from his children.

"I didn't," John Watson smiled at his eldest.

"Then, what are you doing here?" Siger looked searchingly at his father. "Oh."

"Yes. Where else would I be on December first? It's time to put up the fairy lights!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made a small change. Re-read the previous drabble/story line and discovered an error here.


	2. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siger is making plans!

"We must make a Santa's Grotto for Will and Joy," Siger said to his father.

"Siger, Love," John Watson ruffled his son's red curls, "We're miles from anywhere that has a Santa's Grotto, and it's not really safe for us to be going to the village to set one up."

The response was pure Sherlock. A look of pity at the supreme lack of cognition from the masses. Of course, he was not used to being on the receiving end of it from his son. Raising an eyebrow was enough, though, to remind this particular Holmes that "Attitude", as Greg Lestrade said, was just not on. "Explain," he told Siger patiently.

"Well, Will and Joy are just little. So are Rosalind and Miranda. So it is up to us big people to make the Santa's Grotto for them. In the wine cellar," Siger explained carefully.

"The wine cellar?" John had much experience by now of holding in laughter at the earnestness of his children. But it still was not easy.

"It's like a real grotto," Siger said.

"I suppose so," said John Watson, who had been in several actual Grottos of the non-Santa variety with his Consulting Detective partner. As well as quite a few of the Santa variety with his children.

"We can use the bedclothes from the linen closet. The bright red ones. And the Fairy lights. And we can fix up Uncle Mycroft's chair for Santa's throne."

John nodded. "Interesting plan," he said, "But you're missing one particular."

"Santa!" Siger beamed.

"Yes, who were you planning on being Santa?" John was curious about the selection process, and who had been assigned the job. He was - somewhat - praying that it was not to be himself.

"I shall ask Mrs. Parker," Siger told his father solemnly.

"Mrs. Parker. Mrs. Parker?" Siger's Daddy gave his son the 'please explain' face. Santa was not a role that he thought a woman would appreciate being tagged for. Siger, however, often surprised his father with astute observations.

"Mrs. Parker. She can make her voice very deep. She was telling me about her adventures doing leg work. I think she would be the least expected Santa," Siger told him. "Other than _Pere_ ," Siger added.

Well. That was certainly true. "I would suggest that you be very polite when you ask her. And give her the explanation you gave me," John said thoughtfully.

"I am always polite when I ask for a favor," Siger said, "And I like Mrs. Parker. _Pere_ taught us to do that. Even if we don't like the person."

John Watson could not argue with that.


	3. Mrs. Parker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Parker becomes irritated.

Loelia Ponsonby Parker received an unwelcome visit from Smith as she settled down to watch Cold Comfort Farm. Smith. That’s what they all called him. He preferred to be called by his last name, instead of “Percy”. His identification, like hers, read only a first initial and last name. Smith was new in this rotation, and he had not endeared himself to those who regularly served with Mr. Holmes. 

Smith had a tendency to find and use the least liked nickname for his co-workers. He did it now. “Hey, Lil!” he grinned.

My, but the man had big white teeth. “Smith,” Loelia acknowledged his existence within the staff’s recreation room. 

“Kid Sherlock is looking for you,” Smith said as he spun the cue ball on the green felt of the snooker table.

“How long have you been on this rotation schedule, Smith,” she asked, turning off the plasma screen television.

“About five years working for Mr. Holmes,” he said, sloping off to the drinks cabinet for a soft drink, “This is my first stretch at this house. Wild, isn’t it?”

Mrs Parker looked back at him from the door to the main house. “A suggestion, Smith. Mr. Holmes does not appreciate nicknames. And he is very fond of his nephew. Best not to use ‘Kid Sherlock’, or any other nickname for Siger. 

“Right-o, Lil,” Smith said, dropping down into the seat she had vacated. 

It was going to be a long three months.


	4. Siger's proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siger moves forward in his plans.

John Watson knew the names of all of the security staff. After living with some of them since March, he knew some of their personalities, though a number were rotated out every few months. There were, of course, in jokes and personal references. 

John Watson was also a huge James Bond nerd. His spouse was quite pointed about "wishful thinking" and "highly inaccurate leg work" with regard to the movies. Sherlock had never read the original books, which John had in hardback on their shelves back at Baker Street. 

It was one reason why Dr. John Watson always used Mrs. Parker's first name. And pronounced it correctly. "Loelia, how are you today?"

"Just fine, Dr. John." She'd have ordinarily used "Dr. Watson", but he had made a point of asking her to call him John-especially with him enjoying her first name so very much. John Watson had not done this for any of the other security staff. "I understand that Siger is looking for me?" Best to never give out where one obtains information. It gives the impression of knowing more than one actually does.

Siger Holmes's young face peered at her from over the back of an overstuffed wing chair. The tasteful, discrete mauve of the cloth clashed horribly with Siger's bright red curls. "Mrs. Parker!" 

Loelia Parker smiled. How could one not feel pleased at such a joyful welcome. "Was there something you wanted to discuss with me, Siger?" Unlike Doctors and other grownups, it was acceptable to use the first names of children. Calling Siger "young master Holmes" would have sounded pretentious and a bit confusing, what with Will in the house.

Siger bounced out of his chair, clutching a slender, paperback book. He'd had a growth spurt over the summer, and it struck Loelia how tall her was getting. Not so tall as his other father. Not yet. Siger informed her, "Mrs. Parker! Daddy and I are going to set up a Santa's Grotto in the wine cellar for the children!" Mrs. Parker nodded gravely, though she smiled internally at his designation of the other small people in the household as 'the children'. Siger went on, "I would like for you to play Santa! You can make your voice sound very deep. And we can plump you up with pillows to look like a man. You have experience in leg work. And nobody would suspect it is you!"

A snort sounded from the side, that quickly segued into a cough. Loelia Ponsonby Parker avoided looking toward Dr. John Watson. She did not need to look. She knew he would have his face hidden by whatever book he was holding. If she did look, she would laugh too. Instead she directed her attention to the very earnest little boy in front of her. "I see. Why, yes, I believe I can play that role. Do you have a script in mind for me?"

Siger hopped up and down. "I was hoping you would assist me on that."

Mrs. Parker smiled. "Yes, Siger, I would love to help with that."

Siger threw his arms in the air and shouted, "Hurrah!"

As an afterthought, the boy said, "Now we will need to find you an elf. _Pere_ says that Santa always has an elf for his flunky."

Loelia Ponsonby Parker grinned. "I believe Smith might work perfectly for that. Especially if he gets to wear green tights."

"Oh," Siger said, "We can do that! And a fun hat!"

Oh yes, Mrs. Parker thought, This could be a lot of fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loelia is pronounced "Lee-lee-ah".
> 
> Loelia Ponsonby was the secretary for the "double-0" contingent in the James Bond series.
> 
> Loelia Ponsonby Parker's father was a huge Ian Fleming fan, and read the books to her when she was a child. This is not, however, how she got involved in Mycroft Holmes's security contingent. That is another story.


	5. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out more about Smith.

"Hello, Agent Smith," 

Smith froze. That tone of voice did not bode well. If there was one thing that Smith did excellently, it was dodging bullets, and this sounded like the bullet had his name carved into it with laser precision. "Yes, sir?" his spine straightened without conscious thought. Agent Smith. He hated that. Years of Matrix references ensured it.

Declan O'Connor, senior service supervisor for the Quarantine Complex (as it was called) smiled slightly. "Smith, you have been requested for a special assignment. It seems that Siger Holmes is creating a Santa's Grotto in the basement, and he would like for you to take part in it."

This was not as bad as Smith had thought. He'd expected extra outdoor duty - he was a warm weather man. Or some repair issue that needed immediate action. He had little to no experience with woodwork, plumbing, or wiring. Still, he did like kids. "He wants me to dress up as Santa?" he asked, a little surprised.

"Oh, now," O'Connor told him, "nothing so awful as that. As a matter of fact, Lee Parker will be playing the Santa role."

Oh. Well, that wasn't too bad, was it? And Parker's first name was 'Lee'? He thought it was Lil.

O'Connor gave Smith a huge friendly grin, as though he was handing out the greatest prize he had on offer. "You get to be Santa's elf! They're getting together a costume and everything! What a great way to get into the Christmas spirit!"

"Yes, sir. Thank you for the opportunity, sir," Smith gave his supervisor a pained smile. Then he made a try for enthusiasm with, "When is the first practice? We will be practicing won't we?".

"It will be on the roster starting tomorrow. I expect it will get you out of that cold weather work you don't like."

He received a friendly slap on the back, "Don't forget to thank Siger! He asked for you specifically, which means you must have impressed him somehow. That's not a bad thing, Smith. Have fun with this!"

Smith nodded. So, what did this job entail? Research. Knowing what was expected of a Santa's Grotto character. He'd never been to one. It didn't do to go on an assignment with Parker and not do your homework. Smith opened his laptop with a sigh.


	6. A Saint Nicholas Day discussion

Dr. John Watson sat and watched the offspring devour the cream tea that Anna had made partly to celebrate the second Sunday in Advent, and partly for Saint Nicholas Day. Sherlock had inhaled his portion, then drifted off - they knew not where - muttering something about making homemade Christmas Crackers, and would he need gunpowder for them? John sat with Mrs. Hudson, Anna, and Greg's sister Dolores, his great niece and nephew. The "grown up's table" as it were.

The children's table - actually the other half of the very long, solid and sturdy kitchen table - was not so much rowdy as it was loud and filled with chatter. John was speaking quietly, - the adults were guardedly discussed the upcoming holiday. "Christmas dinner is well in hand," Anna smiled at Mrs. Hudson. "Martha is handling the beverages, and we've got a lovely roast, an enormous goose, and a turkey for Christmas day dinner to feed everyone."

Martha Hudson added, "We also have plans for a Christmas Eve meal, since several of the security staff are of Italian descent." 

John Watson looked blank. The Lestrade contingent, who had Catholic family on the continent nodded. "Seven fishes, John," Dolores told him, "It used to be twelve, but I have always found it difficult to manage twelve different types of seafood in one meal. Seven is bad enough. Easiest to make a huge pot of chowder and fling in every kind of fish you can think of"

Anna went on, "We all agreed that we're not doing the Master Servant thing with Christmas and Boxing days, so the household, grounds, and security staff will eat with us all together in the great dining room on Christmas Day."

John said, "I think that Siger was planning on the Santa's Grotto for Christmas Eve Day."

"It's lovely that Siger is organizing that,' Eveline Lestrade Wilson said.

"It's been hysterical watching it come together," John told her, "I'm just pleased to be a stagehand, and not Saint Nicholas. Or his elf."

"Does Siger have paint in his hair?" Jonathan Wilson asked sotto voce.

"He's painting the winter wonderland type backdrops for Saint Nicholas's throne," John grinned.

"His hair does sparkle, doesn't it?" Dolores Lestrade dimpled at him. Her own hair was a bright and cheerful Christmas red, with green stripes, and she wore tiny Christmas balls as earrings.

"Are there any other traditions that we need to be planning for?" John brought the discussion back to the topic at hand.

"Well, we usually attend church," Eveline told him, "And the stockings are opened before anything else."

"I think we can agree," Jonathan put in, "that the stockings should stay in each families particular house."

"It would be simpler," agreed Mrs. Hudson.

"And the pickle," Dolores said, "Should be by household as well."

"Are there ornaments at the Dower House?" John asked. "We didn't think to bring our ornaments with us. I suppose we should have known we would not be back in our homes this year."

Eveline said, "We haven't looked. We're making ornaments for our tree. Uncle Sherlock went out on the grounds with the children and selected trees for the Dower House, this house, Anna and Mrs. Hudson's rooms, and the staff quarters."

Anna, who should have been used to this by now, said, "I hope he isn't planning on the children playing about with axes!"

"We'll be there," John told her. "Sherlock and I. We have small saws from the barn, and we'll be very careful. It will be a bit of work, so I don't expect the children to do much of the sawing."

"I do wish Mr. Holmes could be here," Anna said sadly.

"And Uncle Greg," Eveline agreed.

"Perhaps during their school work tomorrow the children could discuss what they want to do for presents for Greg and Mycroft," Mrs. Hudson suggested.

Eveline nodded. John said, "Tomorrow then, for the presents discussion! And if any traditions get forgotten, text me with them, and we'll figure out how to manage them!"

Tea was refreshed all around, and the adults were drawn into the discussion of whether or not a saltwater crocodile could beat a great white shark in mortal combat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saint Nicholas Day is December 6th. Cream tea is not, so far as I am aware, a tradition for the day.


	7. Symbols of the season

When John Watson climbed the circular stone stairs to the suite of rooms he shared with his partner in and out of crime, he was not expecting to see the long, trouser clad legs of Sherlock Holmes on the window ledge. It was cold enough in these rooms, to have the window open in December was adding insult to injury.

"Pneumonia is a thing, you know. You have had it before," John said, as he stuck his own head out the window. Dressed as he was in a warm, cream coloured jumper and jeans, John was still cold. Sherlock had been nagged into wearing jumpers when the weather cooled. Siger, Ross, and Miri had teamed up against their _Pere_ in an all out shopping spree assault, masquerading as a lesson on economics. As a result, Sherlock had purchased several very nice, expensive sweaters for himself and the children, and two nice, hand-knit but less expensive sweaters for John.

Unless they were going under cover, Sherlock Holmes did not wear denims. It was suit trousers, nice slacks, or pajama bottoms. At least, John thought, he wasn't wearing the jim jams to crawl about on the ledge surrounding the turret windows. As an after thought he needed to notify the children that the ledge was off limits for exploration. 

"Yes, John," his genius began to slither backwards into the room, "But pigion droppings are so much easier to scrape from the ledge up here. Oh, don't make that face. I'll put the scrapings in a container. And I'm wearing gloves." Sherlock waggled the wrists of his cupped hands, sheathed in nitrile, without dropping his frightful collection.

"What on earth do you need that for?" John avoided the outstretched hands with exaggerated care.

"You can make saltpeter from it." 

Well. That was. Unexpected. "Really?" It was not that John was doubtful. He was just never sure where things were leading.

"Ammonium nitrate mixed with potassium hydroxide. Basic chemistry, John," said the marital looney as he scraped the bird dung from his gloved hands into a glass container. That container was lidded, and situated on a high shelf before Sherlock headed through the dressing room passage and into the en suite, John following.

Peeling the nitrile gloves with precision, he deposited them in the appropriate bin - clearly labeled with a biohazard sign that Siger had made, and peeling his clothing off, tossed those into the hamper before stepping into the standing shower. "I have been working on a conundrum," John heard him over the hot, running water.

"Which is?:" John leaned against the doorway.

"What is the appropriate symbol for this year? What can we render in marzipan for Mycroft that will exemplify 2020?" 

That was a question. "Boris Johnson?" Not that John wanted to look at that evil git for a second more than he had to.

"I was thinking," Sherlock's voice was muffled by the water as he rinsed.

John waited a bit before saying, "You were thinking of what?" by way of encouragement. Generally Sherlock did not end up in his Mind Palace during a shower, but one never knew.

The water switched off. "What about Covid19?" Sherlock stuck his hand around the shower stall door for John to hand in an enormous bath towel.

"I really don't want to give anyone Covid19, Sherlock. Isn't that why we are here in the first place?" John said, picturing a round ornament of marzipan, with red golf tees stuck all 'round it.

"I wouldn't give you one, John," Sherlock came out of the stall rubbing his dark curls dry. "It wouldn't be funny."

Well that was nice. And John was certainly enjoying the view. But considering the five small children in the house who tended to have the most unhappy timing, there was not a thing that John was going to do about it until after their bedtime. "Okay," John felt a bit like Winnie the Pooh having a think. "What would be something that reminds him of Will and Joy?"

His genius stared at him. "Marzipan sculptures of the children. What a ghastly idea, John."

"That's not what," John started only to be interrupted.

"But you are, as always, a conductor of light! There are all manner of symbols. I can think of at least one Viking rune that would do! I just need to find the right one for Will, and one for Joy. Excellent! Thank you, John!"

What else can one do when complimented like that. Unfortunately, the kiss - just as it was getting interesting - was cut short by the patter of trainers on the stone stair case. John went out to meet them, leaving Sherlock to get dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give unto you the Christmas Present of a Shower Scene.


	8. Secrets

"Siger is hiding something from us," Miranda whispered to her sister in the darkness of the downstairs coat room.

"Not successfully," Rosalind whispered back. She had a bit of a lisp, but Daddy was working with her on it. If only they could have signed. It was, however, too dark among the hanging lengths of fabric in the enclosed space. There were no windows. Miranda and her sister were sitting at the back of the room, with _Pere's_ black and comforting coat hanging over their heads, the skirt enveloping them. 

There was a chance that Will, if he opened the door to look, would miss them, and head off to seek them elsewhere. They were playing what Daddy called "Legitimate Hide and Seek" - with everyone hiding from a single Seeker - instead of "Sardines", which involved one hider, and many seekers eventually becoming quite cramped into a small space.

"Besides," Rosalind cuddled close, "We know he's doing something for us. It could be a Pantomime, or an Escape Room, or some kind of puzzle. Let's not spoil it. It's more fun watching _Pere_ not tell us. It must be driving him mad not to talk about it."

" _Pere_ is very bad at keeping secrets, isn't he?" Miranda was smiling. Rosalind could hear it in her voice.

"Not like Uncle Mycroft."

"No, Uncle Mycroft is the best at secrets!" Miranda agreed, and "Some day we will go and work for him in London."

"Someday," Rosalind said thoughtfully, "Unless we find something we like to do better."

"In that case, we'll just work for him when he needs us to."

"Meanwhile, we need a secret to keep from Siger. What shall it be?" Rosalind asked.

"We could learn Welsh from Anna," suggested Miranda.

"Siger doesn't speak Welsh. It would be an encouragement for him to learn," Rosalind said decidedly.

"We must ask Anna. How would we disguise our lessons?" Miranda said.

"Some sort of baking. Anna and Grandmother Hudson always want us to learn that. And Siger will want to learn too, but we'll tell him it's a special time with them. What do you think?" Rosalind offered.

"Yes," Miranda started. Rosalind's finger against her lips brought quiet, as footsteps sounded on the long wooden hallway outside. 

The solid wooden door creaked open, and little, blond Will peered into the closet, hanging onto the big brass doorknob. "I found you," Will said with a smile.


	9. Night time

Will was crying. It was late. Siger had heard the adults going to their rooms along the hallway hours ago. Now it was just Will awake. And Siger. And the guards, who were patrolling the house and grounds. And Will was crying. Not loudly, but still, crying.

Siger was at a loss. He had tried to make sure that Will and Joy had everything they needed. But he was not their Daddy. Sometimes, you just needed your Daddy. What would his own Daddy do? He’d gather Siger up in a blanket, and take him downstairs for some hot chamomile or milk with honey. They’d turn on only a few lights, and they’d talk quietly until Siger was ready to go back to bed.

 _Pere_ would crawl into bed and cuddle with him, and tell him stories about marvelous sciences until he fell asleep.

Siger wasn’t big enough. He just didn’t know what to do.

Steady, quiet feet paced down the hallway outside. Even as silent as the security detail were, you could still hear the difference when they walked from carpet to the plain wood of the floor. These feet paused outside of the playroom door.

The door opened quietly, as it always did when they were being checked on. The dim light from the hall showed Mrs. Parker’s face. She scanned the room, gave a nod to Siger in his cot, and moved to Will’s bedside. “Want to tell me what’s wrong, Will?” she asked, though Siger could barely hear her.

There was a sniffle. “I miss Daddy. I miss Father. And it’s Christmas, and they won’t be with us. I will never see them again.” Will began to cry in earnest. 

Mrs. Parker sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk and held her arms out for Will. There was a rustling of bedclothes. Even with the hall light, it was dark, and Siger could only tell that Mrs. Parker’s arm was moving. She was stroking Will’s hair. “It will be all right, Will, my boy. You’ll see.”

When the storm had passed, they sat there for a bit. Mrs. Parker holding Will, and Siger laying in his cot and listening. Will gave a little congested snore, and she laid him back in his bed. As she pulled the bedclothes up, she spoke. Softly. It wasn’t whisper – but it didn’t wake the others up. “We can talk about this tomorrow, Siger, if you like. But I want you to know that this is not your problem to solve. Alright?”

“Yes, Mrs. Parker,” Siger replied. “Good night, Mrs. Parker.”

She wished him a soft “Good night”, pulling the door to as she went out into the hallway. Leaving Siger thinking in his cot.


	10. After. Math

_Auntie Thea_

“Yes, Lee?”

 _You need to get the boss some time with his kids._

“It’s not a good time right now.”

_When is it ever a good time? I’m telling you he’d think this was important. If you phrased it the right way._

“Why, what’s up?”

_Will was crying in bed last night. Gave him a cuddle. Siger was a awake and trying to figure out what to do. I really don't think you want Siger to "fix" things._

“I sympathise. But Will crying isn’t enough to start the process. Antarctica would have to go through fourteen days of quarantine prior to access. Then fourteen days after the visit."/p>

_Will thinks he’s never going to see either of his father’s again. He just a little boy._

Silence. A sigh that echoed in the high ceilinged office.

"On it.”


	11. Siger thinks of helping

When they moved into the big house, Siger had set up the sleeping arrangements for the Playroom. It was not that Siger was being bossy. At least Siger did not think so. He did take after both his parents- John in caring for others, and Sherlock for bulling ahead after an objective. Siger was the eldest, and he was a self-sacrificing little boy who cared about people. Will and Joy got their own beds, Ross and Miri got to share the trundle bed that slid out from beneath the bunks, and Siger slept on a camp cot. The camp cot was only out at night. 

Will took the bottom bunk, and had arrayed all of his stuffed animals in a barricade around the edge of his bed. Joy loved the top bunk – she was a climber – and the pride of place in her bed was an enormous plush unicorn that her fathers had given her for Christmas when she was a year old. At the time it had been bigger than Joyeaux. The headboards of the bunks were cupboards, and packed with all the detritus that young children find fascinating.

Miri and Ross tended to sleep together in any case. They shared their stuffies, because – as they would tell you if you commented in it – their stuffies were siblings too. They took over a long bookshelf under the windows for their goods. These books and knick knacks were understood to be theirs, and permission was required to examine any of them.

The rest of the room was taken up with tables and in common bookshelves filled with classics and a few new titles, There were boxes to keep the toys in, and two bureaus holding clothing. Each child had two drawers, with Siger taking one from each bureau – both the unwanted bottom drawer. What space there was in in the center of the room wa for playing on the floor. Except at night, when Siger’s cot was set out.

The children became used to this, as children do. It wasn’t that they didn’t remember their lives at Baker Street or The London House. But they lived in the now. Not the next week. Or much in the past.

Siger supposed it was easier for him, and for Miri and Ross, because they had their fathers with them. And their Grandmother Hudson. Joy and Will missed their father after Uncle Greg had gone back to London in January. At least, then, they had their Daddy with them. Then Uncle Mycroft left for London in April because that man with the really bad haircut had gotten Covid.

Siger knew that Mrs. Parker had told him it was not his problem to solve. Siger still wanted to solve it. 

The little boy, seated on cold and drafty window seat, and hidden by the drapes, asked himself what Daddy would do. He asked himself what _Pere_ would do.

No. Explosives were not the answer to the current problem. Siger couldn’t see how how would use those to advantage in any case. 

He developed a plan.


	12. Ooh.  Mysterious!

“Dear Uncle Mycroft,” the letter started. It was in a simple combination of transposition code and Atbash. Mycroft Holmes looked at his PA and raised an elegant eyebrow. 

“The codes section thought this required your immediate attention. I believe they think that while on the face of it the message is quite simple, in reality it’s some type of impenetrible cypher that only you have the key for,” Anthea told him smoothly.

“One wonders,” the minor government official said, “How exactly Siger managed to access my office without assistance from either of his fathers, or the security staff?”

“Indeed,” Anthea’s response was polite and just the correct touch of mildly inquisitive.

Her superior began to read the correspondance. It went on, “Please don’t be angry at _Pere_ because he does not know I am sending you this message. He would think it is funny though. Not what I’m writing about, but that I figured out how to get into your office. I think Daddy would too.

They do not know what I am writing you about. I will tell them after I send this message. They will be annoyed. With me not following correct procedure. Anyway, Daddy will.

You need to come home. Not home in London. Home in Scotland. Home with your children. Because Guillaume and Joyeaux really miss you. Will was crying last night. I couldn’t do anything, but Mrs. Parker gave him a cuddle until he stopped crying and went to sleep.

I know your job is important. Will is important too. And Joy.

Please come home. Then I can also show you the Santa’s Grotto that I am making in the wine cellar with Mrs. Parker, and Smith, and Daddy and Grandmother Hudson. Will and Joy and Miri and Ross do not know about it.

I think they will like it. But I think they will like it even more if you come home.

With love and fondness,

Your nephew, Siger Hamish Holmes.

Post Script – Please also give my love and fondness to Uncle Greg Lestrade.”

“Well, that is something,” Mycroft Holmes said before waving the paper at his husband. “Here, read this. Laugh at it now, because when we get to the Main House we will need to be thoughtful and treat Siger with respect.”

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, lying across the soft leather of the caramel coloured couch reached over the back of it to take the letter. He did give a soft chuff of laughter. “You’re not going to send the lad to gaol now, are you? Official secrets and all?”

“I am certainly going to shake up the security team!” his husband gave a testy look to Anthea. “Please inform Declan that there has been unofficial access, and they are to look into it immediately.”

Yes, sir,” Anthea handed him her blackberry, “He has already ascertained that and done a thorough investigation.”

“How many days do we have left in this hideous quarantine?” Mycroft grumbled, although he knew perfectly well.

“Seven days, love,” Greg Lestrade said, handing him back the printout. “And then we can walk across the field and be at the house. Unless,” he paused.

“Unless some catastrophe occurs and demand my attention.”

Greg Lestrade laughed, “Nope,” he popped the ‘p’, just as Mycroft’s younger brother always did. There is no excuse. "We are going home next week for Christmas. You’ll see to that, right, Anthea?”

Anthea would do her damnedest. She was tired of quarantine too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. And then the influx of chapters. I have added three. So best to go back to #10 for this update.
> 
> We're under quarantine for my spouse's Covid19, and I seem to be spending a horrific amount of time taking care of things instead of writing.
> 
> It's always the way.
> 
> Please, stay safe. Wear a mask. Wash your hands (I sing the Alphabet song) for 20 seconds. Social Distance.


	13. Parental reaction

“I do not know what to say,” Sherlock Holmes muttered.

“I do. Siger, you do not break into Uncle Mycroft’s governmental office, or his secure phone lines,” John Watson said in exaspertion.

“Yes, sir,” Siger said quietly, sitting up very straight in the big chair.

They were not alone. Declan was there, Mrs. Parker was outside the door. 

“Siger,” his Daddy went on, “You could end up in serious trouble. The fact that you’re a minor notwithstanding, you do not want to go to prison. And we do not want to go to prison because you broke the law.”

“Yes, sir,” Siger repeated.

“Stop that,” his _Pere_ said shortly. “I do not believe for a moment that you think you persued the wrong course of action, Siger. You’re smart enough to break your Uncle’s system. Now you need to let us know how you accomplished that.”

Siger shook his head, “I can’t, _Pere_.”

Daddy said, “What do you mean you can’t? You won’t have forgotten how you did it, and I know for a fact that they’ve not plugged the leak. Because you haven’t told Declan how you did it.”

“Yes sir,” Siger said, “No, sir.”

John Watson’s lips repeated Siger’s words silently. “What do you even mean, Siger?”

“I will tell Uncle Mycroft.”

Declan’s face was impassive, he was certain of it. It had to be. But Bloody Hell was he glad he would not be in charge of this circus of lunatics after Antarctica arrived. 

Sherlock Holmes gave his son a searching look. “You’ll tell Uncle Mycroft, but only if he comes here. Is that it?”

“Yes, sir,” Siger said calmly.

His father began to chuckle. John Watson gave his spouse an unfriendly look. “Do not encourage this behavior, Sherlock!”

“I’m not encouraging it, John, but it certainly is the perfect attempt at blackmailing Mycroft that I have ever seen. And I’ve been the instigator of quite a few attempts.”

“That did not need to be said. Right now. In front of your son,” Siger’s Daddy reminded the consulting detective.

“Perhaps not,” Siger’s _Pere_ acknowledged. “Siger, your current punishment is to lose your dessert until your Uncle arrives. He will determine your actual punishment, because he is the one you committed your fault against. Does that sound logical?”

“Yes, sir,” Siger sounded unhappy, but resolute.

Later, up in the privacy of their tower, Sherlock Holmes told his partner, “He is as stubborn as you are, John Watson!”

John, who was in bed with a LeCarre book in memorial of the author’s recent death, was unimpressed. Turning a page he said calmly, “And as brilliant as you are, Sherlock. Which means you’d better step up your game. Or he’s going to out think you. Again.”

“But I’ve got you on my side. So we will, together, figure out how to defeat this new and daring criminal.” Sherlock turned toward his violin case. 

John muttered into his book, “Depends on whether he offers better job standards, I guess.”

Sherlock did not answer. The idea was simply ridiculous.


	14. Sewing Santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparing for Santa's Grotto.

Mrs. Martha Hudson’s needle stitched along, hemming the Saint Nicholas costume. Even after all of this time she was surprised to look at her fingers and see the wrinkles, the bumps from arthritis, the old hands that could not possibly belong to herself. We tend to remember our images frozen in time. For Martha, it was from when she spent the most time looking into a mirror. That was when she’d been able to hang upside down from the pole, grinning at the men seated around her stage. She’d sewn her own costumes then as well.

“Do we have enough cushioning for this, Lee?” she asked the erstwhile Saint Nicholas.

Loelia Parker was trying on hats for size. The traditional Saint’s outfit had been deemed too much work for the time they had allotted. She was going for a regular “Santa Claus”, with red and white suit, black boots, and a bushy white beard. “I think we have enough,” Lee Parker nodded. “What we really need is some way to disguise Smith. He still looks like himself, even in tights.”

“Well, we can’t shrink him,” Martha Hudson scrutinized the young man. “though we could change the shape of his face. What about a mustache?”

“It can’t been too much,” Lee Parker found a hat she liked, putting the discards into a box to go back in the attic. “Contact lenses to change his eye color?”

Smith glumly poked at a cheekbone with his finger. They kept talking about him as though he was not there. How annoying. And worrying. “Won’t putting padding on make me look shorter?” he offered.

“Don’t worry, SMITH,” Siger Holmes said encouragingly to the man, “We’ll figure something out.” Siger was still having difficulty calling him “Smith”, and not “Mr. Smith”, as he called Mrs. Parker – well, Mrs. Parker. He tended to overemphasize Smith’s name. Speaking all in capitols, as it were. “We can always distract with jingle bells!”

Smith tried not to wince. He was going to be noisy enough that everyone would be looking at him in these green tights.

“Though I think,” Martha Hudson went on as though only Mrs. Parker had spoken, “That bright green contacts will spark with the dark green tunic. Don’t you think?”  
Smith thought it would be a very long month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankl you for everyone's patience. We've had two weeks of Covid19 Quarantine. I do not wish it on anyone, and ours was not even a bad case. 
> 
> Fortunately, the younger offspring, my 85 year old Mom, and I tested negative. But then had to spend two weeks isolating. I'm enjoying the much less hurried pace of the Holmes/Watson/Holmes/Lestrade household. And I wish that I had someone to cook for us instead of me.


	15. Welsh lessons in the Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda and Rosalind are making a gift for Siger.

Miranda and Rose sat at the kitchen table compiling a list of words with Anna. They were working on an abecedarian for Siger for Christmas. ‘A’ was, of course, Afal. Ross felt that was too simple. She and Miri were looking for proverbs to go with each one. But they didn’t want to use English sayings translated. The point was to figure it all out in Cymraeg \\.

“’A fo ben, bid bont’ - If you want to be a leader, be a bridge” suggested Anna, her hands white with flour from the fairy cakes for tea. “For ‘b’.”

Miri bounced in her chair. “This is the best idea ever.” She had already started working on sketches. “I wish Uncle Mycroft were here. He could help me with my sketches.”  
Ross looked sideways at her sister. “Your pictures are better than mine,” she pointed out.

“It is not a competition,” Anna reminded them, “this is a present. Siger will appreciate everything that is in it.”

Ross, who was a perfectionist, shook her head. She didn’t argue. But the scarf she had knit for her Daddy had been unraveled and reknit multiple times over the past few weeks. Always something that was just not right. _Pere’s_ had flowed – the dark blue cashmere yarn had been soft and easy to create. The bright royal blue of Daddy’s scarf, however, she was not happy with.

Miri was not a perfectionist. What she did have, was a talent for art. Instead of plain garter stitching for a scarf for her family members, she had made stuffed Christmas ornaments. After all, Ross was knitting scarves, and each person could only wear one scarf at a time. Miri had created an otter for _Pere_ , a cheerful hedgehog for Daddy, a red fox for Siger, a silver one for Uncle Greg Lestrade, a Pooh-ish friends and relations Rabbit for Uncle Mycroft. Joy had yet another unicorn, and Will – for Will Miri had knit a friendly octopus.  
The only one that Miri was worried about was the rose for Rosalind. It was a red rose, full, and the petals curved like a real rose. Miri just wanted to surprise Ross. That wasn’t easy for anyone in their family.

Anna placed the first of the currant rocks onto a small plate between the two girls. Together they took bites. “Not quite,” Ross said. “Not like Aunt Harriet’s Currant Rocks.”  
“but closer,” Miri said soothingly. Then, “You could just ask Daddy for the recipe.”

“No, this is much more fun,” Anna twinkled at her. “I’ll get the mixture right eventually.”

At the very least, it gave her something to engage her mind. They’d been sequestered here for so long, Anna was beginning to think she had ended up in an old time novel. And what Mr. Mycroft was managing on without her at their house in London, she did not know. Fattening take-away, most likely. She hoped that come Christmas time the man would either arrive, or send for his children. They needed their parents.

Meanwhile, her task was to keep these scamps busy. She’s been telling them stories in Welsh, and when the bake was done, she could sit with a cup of tea and tell them another.


	16. Silver fulminate makes for a Happy Christmas Cracker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Sherlock and John.

“Silver fulminate”, Sherlock Holmes told his partner, “Made by dissolving 8.4 g silver nitrate in 39.5 g concentrated nitric acid diluted with 8.4 g water, and heating a mixture of 1 part of this solution with 1.2 parts of ethanol to about 60°C until a precipitate forms.”

“Okay,” Dr. John Watson peered over his shoulder, “So you’ve given up on making gunpowder with bird guano then?”

“Obviously,” Holmes said, focused on the process in front of him.

“You’re the expert,” Watson told him. “Just don’t explode my favorite Chemist.” Whereupon he gave his genius a kiss on those wild, dark curls, and clomped down the curving stone steps to see what his children were up to.


	17. Smith gets into it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith does research.

Mrs. Parker had him practicing a Russian accent. After that she’d said Norwegian. Whichever sounded least like himself, Smith was to use in impersonating an elf.

Smith supposed it was The North Polar Influence. He’d written back story for his elf, though they hadn’t come up with a name yet. That depended on what language the elf spoke. Mrs. Parker was fairly certain that none of the children spoke Russian yet. Nor Norwegian.

His elf was a reindeer wrangler who had to fill in when Saint Nicholas’ assistant broke his leg defrosting the North Pole. Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Hudson had both laughed at that when he told them. At first Smith thought nothing of it, but afterward – was there something he was missing?

Smith had been reading up on veterinary techniques used on reindeer. Interesting. Those crazy Americans had an official vet for Santa’s reindeer. Smith was doing a lot of copying from their videos. He thought he could talk a good game. Well, hopefully a good enough game.

And the idea was to slightly pitch his voice so that it was neither awfully low, nor irritatingly high. Smith had never been much involved in any leg work that involved becoming another person. Still, it was interesting stuff. So many intricacies, and when Mrs. Parker (he’d decided t was easier to call her that, especially since Siger did) dropped a hint into past work she had done.

It was fascinating how much detail everyone was putting into this Christmas event for the kids. Half of the security squad were building the Grotto, and painting it in fantastic ice like glistening shades. On their spare time, of course. No one was allowed to skimp on the actual job they were paid to do.

The weather was warm. Siger had told him about the North Atlantic Current of the Gulf Stream – and yes, Smith had learned about that in school. It was just now that he could look at the weather and see how it all worked together. Siger had been studying it in his home school, along with young Will and Joy. Smith guessed that all the children’ were learning about it, but Siger’s sisters were spending a lot of time in the kitchen learning something. Baking. Or was it Welsh? Anyway, the temperature was going to dip down to below freezing once per week until the New Year, when it would stay down for a while. 

Odd when you thought about it. Christmas and snow in all those Dickens movies, but not really. Not in London most years, anyway.

An idea struck him, and Smith began to look at weather patterns at the North Pole over the year. Yeah, couldn’t hurt, could it?


	18. Anna

Anna loved Guillaume and Joyeaux well enough, although she was not nearly as close to them as Martha Hudson was to young Master Sherlock’s children. 

It irritated Mr. Mycroft’s brother to be referred to in that fashion, and so Anna, who appreciated Mr. Mycroft, continued to do it. Never a hard word from Mr. Mycroft Holmes, even when she’d cleaned out the kitchen cabinets after the Great Stripping Away of All Foods Good and Heartwarming. Still, that young man sniping at his brother about his weight, even as Mr. Mycroft was trying to very hard to take care of himself.

Then Mr. Greg came into their life. Chocolate was back on the menu, if only in careful amounts. This all was a blessing, so far as Anna was concerned. Mr. Mycroft deserved all of it, every single bit. The man was such a good father to his children. It was a blessing, that is exactly what it was.

When Martha Hudson had – so very carefully – asked to teach Will and Joy how to bake, Anna had been relieved. She was having fun with the Welsh lesson for Miranda and Rosalind. The idea of teaching children how to cook horrified her. At least she knew that Martha would keep a lid on racketing behavior in and about her kitchen. Well, except for young Master Sherlock.

There was a young woman, Gretchen, who cleaned very thoroughly for them. Anna was thankful not to have to do dishes at her age. Gretchen was not cheeky, she was thoughtful. Anna had no children, nor did she ever desire to be a mother. 

Her interaction right now suited her because she could retreat into her quarters for an evening of movies, or working on her jig-saw puzzles. Once a week she and Martha, and Mrs. Parker, and Mr. O’Brien would play cards. It kept her occupied, and them out of trouble. Especially Martha.

With that, and making good meals for men and women and children who enjoyed them, Anna was quite happy.


	19. John practices

Every day, from the moment they had all moved into the Scottish house, the security detail did their work. It was work. This was their job, to care for the residents of the house, even when – eventually, Mycroft Holmes left to return to London. There were rounds, examination of the comings and goings in the area, a variety of practice in the martial arts, continuing education on a wide variety of subjects. Several of the detail were there for the long haul. The rest cycled through, as there had to be members taking care of Mr. Holmes and the Detective Inspector in the city, as well as breaks for personal llife.

Doctor john Watson was not particularly good at hand to hand combat. He was aggressive and pugnacious, but he did not have the unique talents that this detail had been chosen for.  
That being said, he was one hell of a shot. There was a series of outdoor ranges – moving target and stationary. John Watson, when he was invited to join them at the ranges, was polite and appreciative. And competitive.

He was willing to learn with the security detail. Often Mr. O’Brien would notify him when special instruction was presented. John Watson was perfectly happy to join them for hand to hand, or any other form of practice. As he told O’Brien, “I like to keep my hand in. I never know when someone is going to come after one of the Holmes brothers, or my children.”

He’d suggested they set up a paint ball range for some friendly interaction. That idea had been firmly squashed. 

“Maybe after the pandemic is over,” Mrs. Parker had told him with a twinkle in her eye. “For now? We’re going to be extra careful with your family. You understand that, I’m sure?”

Well, when you put it that way, how was John to argue?

“Okay, Loelia,” he said, “Though I can not wait until this is all over. Honestly, you’re all great. I enjoy shooting against everyone. But I’m happier with the idea of going home to Baker Street.”


	20. The Great Conjunction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all, there's more than Christmas coming!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please go back to chapter 14, as I have just posted from 14 through 20 today.

“What are you doing with that thing?” Sherlock Holmes frowned at the large black telescope his partner was hauling up the stairs to the top of the tower.

“There’s a ‘great conjunction’ tomorrow night,” John told him, “And I thought it would be good for the kids to stay up and look at the stars!”

Sherlock sniffed. “You’ll most likely see nothing but cloud formations.”

“True that,” John agreed amiably, “But even so the kids will remember it.”

“So,” the consulting genius followed his partner up the stairs past their rooms toward the flat roof, “What conjunction?”

“Saturn and Jupiter,” John said, “Those are two of the planets.”

“John,” Sherlock said seriously, “Alchemy teaches us that the Great conjunction causes destabilization in law and order. Momentous occurences appear, leading to the overthrow of governments, volcanic instability, and plague.”

His partner stopped dead and started. “Alright. I’ll bite. Where did you learn that, then?”

“I *am* a chemist, John. It behooves me to know the history of the profession, wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock asked with a dead serious expression.

“Pull the other one,” John Watson said. “You just got that from Wikipedia.”

Sherlock burst out laughing. “Not quite, but close. Earth and Sky Alchemy. They state that the conjunction will be ‘monumental and transformative’ for this year.” He ducked past john to open the door accessing the roof. “Should be very interesting. What with the plague forecast for this year and all.”

“There will always be plagues,” John Watson said morosely.

“True,” Sherlock told him, “But we’ll look at the solar system with our children, and perhaps they’ll learn something from it. For my part, I’ll…"< /p>

“You’ll delete it.” John finished for him.

“Not likely. It’s something we’re doing with the children. Most likely I’ll keep track of this new learning experience. Even if we have to wait twenty years for the next one.”

“by then, “ John said thoughtfully, “They might have children of their own.”

Sherlock regarded him. “That is not something I was thinking of. Hmmm.”

“Well, we’ll just have ot make the most of this one, then,” John said, hauling the telescope out onto the roof. “I’ll leave it here in the shed, and we’ll set it up tomorrow evening.”

They leaned on the parapet, looking out through the pretentious and modern crenellations. It was a nice evening, warmish – though with the bite of colder weather coming. Birds sang around them in the dusk. 

“We need to come up here more,” Sherlock told John.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” John said.

“And private,” Sherlock said, as he kicked the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for typos. I'll work my way through again, but I wanted to catch up as much as possible! Thanks for your patience!


	21. Dulce Domum

Will dreamed her heard his Daddy calling him. "Daddy! " he called back, "Here I am!"

" _Guillaume, mon cher. Je suis ici._ "

Will opened his eyes. The room was dark, with a rectangle of light from the doorway. Even so, he could see a figure in the darkness, feel the weight of someone sitting on the edge of the bed. "Daddy!" he jumped into his father's arms.

Joyeaux was hanging over the edge of the top bunk squeezing their other father, tall and strong, his silver hair shining in the light from the doorway.

"Did you come to take us home? To London?" Will asked, his voice muffled against his father's waistcoat.

"We came home here to you, to spend Christmas, Will," Mycroft Holmes answered.

"I'm so glad you're here, Daddy," Joy shouted from the upper bunk, "It's almost Christmas Eve!"

"Not so loud, Joy," Greg Lestrade told his daughter gently, "It's still time for sleeping, and you don't want to wake everyone up."

"Will you still be here in the morning, Daddy?" Will asked tearfully.

"Yes, We'll see you at breakfast, Will."

There was a sniffle. "Good night Daddy."

Kisses, hugs, and then Will's parents closed the door. "You were right, Siger," Will said, "They did come."

Siger smiled in the darkness. "Good night, Will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry. Somewhere on my work computer is a much longer version of this, and for the 22nd as well.


End file.
